


Nantaimori

by whiskeyandspite



Series: Shared Madness - The Hannibal Drabble Dump [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Kink, M/M, Nantaimori, Sushi, Teasing, chopsticks used for teasing, delayed gratification, presmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is the closest Hannibal can have William how he truly desires him, to be able to consume from him properly. And this is a dish he had always had in mind to try. Just the right level of delicate and intricate, artful arrangement on a cold, still form. The Japanese had elevated the practice to art, the culture always teeming with delicious ideas for Hannibal’s own work. He had reserved this dinner for the only guest he wants to share it with.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A commission piece for the darling <a href="http://archionblu.tumblr.com/">Archie</a>, who requested the following: "Hannibal has nantaimori off of Will, and is constantly teasing/scolding will for twitching. Will gets an erection, Hannibal teases him mercilessly. Definitely needs to feature running his chopsticks up the underside of his cock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nantaimori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [archionblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/archionblu/gifts).



> Sorry it took so long, my darling, I hope it's to your liking.
> 
> Food kink is not usually my thing, so I rarely write it. I hope I did a good job!
> 
> More info on nantaimori and nyotaimori [here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyotaimori)

This is the closest Hannibal can have William how he truly desires him, to be able to consume from him properly. And this is a dish he had always had in mind to try. Just the right level of delicate and intricate, artful arrangement on a cold, still form. The Japanese had elevated the practice to art, the culture always teeming with delicious ideas for Hannibal’s own work. He had reserved this dinner for the only guest he wants to share it with.

“Will,”

“I’m trying.”

Will’s Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow and he slides his eyes to Hannibal again, lips quirking just enough, no glasses to guard him from direct eye contact as he tries his best to hold still. Hannibal pays him no more mind for the moment, eyes not meeting his, hands, instead, adjusting he chopsticks between his fingers before reaching to set them on either side of a piece of hosomaki, allowing Will to feel the gentle press of the prongs against his chest before the piece is taken up.

He watches Hannibal place the piece carefully inside his mouth, teeth just barely touching the chopsticks before he closes his lips around the morsel and chews. Hannibal eats as beautifully as his food is prepared. Perhaps in a strange mirror of honor; if something can be so beautiful to see, had taken so much time and care to make, it should not be ruined by consuming it badly. It’s something Will has learned over the months, grown to respect; Hannibal’s desire for everything beautiful is not simply a need for perfection, it is a desire to share that perfection.

Since they had started, the relationship had always been somehow dictated by Hannibal’s need to make Will perfect. For himself, for the other, eventually for both to enjoy. At night, together, he treats Will with a gentleness the other can’t fathom, that he once squirmed and fought against until he learned that he deserved it, that gentleness did not equal pity in Hannibal’s eyes, far from it. Gentleness was earned, it was deserved, and it was bestowed on Will often enough for him to learn.

Even here, now, this is gentle, despite the aura of predation hanging over Will’s skin just as the chill was. It is full control and no violence at all to get there. Will is laid prone, head supported for comfort, legs out straight, hands palm-up on either side of his thighs. He is on display, as much a vessel for food as he is consumed himself; a feast more, he guesses, for Hannibal’s eyes than his stomach. The way the man watches him, lets his eyes run over his skin, lets nothing but the bare, cold bone of the chopsticks touch him makes Will desperate to shift, to feel the warm hands on him instead.

But shifting gets nothing more than a gentle reminder to still, loud breaths nothing more than the smallest narrowing of eyes to suggest genuine amusement in the other man. His patience is impenetrable, and Will wonders how long they both will suffer before Hannibal feels merciful and dinner can be forgotten.

Hannibal’s eyes return to Will’s chest in slow contemplation of the array before him, and he selects another piece, a cool slice of pink flesh, a close enough approximation to human, that he turns against Will’s side, draws it against him enough to cause a shiver, to bring Will’s eyes to close and his throat to work in another careful swallow. Then it’s gone, the cool air of the dining room licking up the stripe until it’s dry, nothing but a memory against him.

“You were instrumental in preparing dinner,” Hannibal tells him softly, soaking the fish in soy sauce before carefully bringing it to Will’s lips for him to taste, “It would be unfair to not allow you to partake.”

Will’s lips part obediently and he takes the offering, eyes on Hannibal’s until he’s swallowed, until Hannibal’s own lips press together in sympathy to how Will’s move. He adjusts the chopsticks to rest closed between his fore and middle fingers, the ends flat against the thumb, and draws the pad of his thumb over Will’s bottom lip to collect the residual sauce there. He takes the hand away before Will’s lips part to accept it, smiles at the sound it garners, and carefully wipes his hand clean.

“Partake more than I am?” Will murmurs after a moment, tensing and relaxing as Hannibal decides on his next choice by running the two ends of the chopsticks around one piece then another, points together and then unexpectedly apart to circle another slice of sashimi and move on. The sensation is addicting, and Will finds himself responding quickly, already impatient, now bordering on needy.

“I would have you involved in every aspect.” Hannibal tells him, amused by Will’s shifting, pausing in his exploration of the food to tease the chopsticks against the soft skin of his navel. “And I would have you lie still.”

Killing Will had been an option for a few months. A clear one, in Hannibal’s mind. He had planned it carefully, adjusting details the more of Will he got to know. The death had to be as perfect as his careful grooming had been. And then the plans had shifted, turned to the backburner when William had come to his hand on his own, had shown willingness to be intimate. Now the plans had no set in anything but words; Will would die, and by Hannibal’s hand, but nothing more. No when, no how, just an eventual inevitability.

There had never been a why.

“It’s cold,” Will murmurs, shifting slightly again before settling to a semblance of stillness. His body is a juxtaposition of temperatures; cool skin and fever-hot blood. He wants Hannibal to touch him, he needs him to. And the man refuses him, enjoys watching William as much as he enjoys eating the food his body presents.

“Yes.” He replies, eyes narrowing a little in amusement, and he selects another piece – finally – to eat.

Will closes his eyes and presses his lips together lightly, the sharp taste of soy sauce still against them. He knows Hannibal is relishing this, enjoying the chance to keep Will down with just his words, to tease him with nothing more than a certain glance, a narrowing of eyes, the cool, lifeless bone chopsticks where he knows Will would rather have his fingers.

He parts his lips obediently once more for another piece of sushi when it’s offered and chews.

As far as Hannibal’s dinners go, this is far from elaborate; if you took away Will as the table setting, they would be enjoying a selection of sushi together, nothing more. Will arches a little off the table without dislodging anything that matters and gasps as Hannibal directs the path of his chopsticks to touch against a pressure point at the hollow of Will’s hip.

“I did request you lie still.” He reminds him, Will lets out a quick breath that passes for a laugh and turns his head to Hannibal fully.

“I have no incentive to.”

For a moment Hannibal’s expression is downright devious. Then it clears, and he presses the bone implements a little harder against Will’s skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to have Will squirm involuntarily.

“Is the desire to fulfil my request not enough?” he muses, lifting the points from Will’s skin only to run them, cool and clinical, from the base of Will’s cock to the head where it’s started to curve against his stomach. The touch sends Will’s muscles taut and his cock to hardening more. Hannibal presses the chopsticks on either side of the glans a moment before letting it go.

“Very well,” he tells him, as though nothing had passed between him, as though Will’s breathing isn’t now hitched and his eyes wider, “I will grant you relief this evening only if you lay the rest of dinner still,” he selects another piece of sashimi, the flesh darker now, a different fish, and forgoes the soy sauce before holding this out for Will to take as well, “And eat what you are fed.”

Will lets out a shaky breath and for a moment doesn’t part his lips to eat, not deliberately obstinate so much as curious.

“And if not?”

“I would imagine you will find it very difficult to sleep.” Hannibal replies, sliding the offered morsel against Will’s lips until they part to take it. He smiles, keeps eye contact until Will himself breaks it, and then turns to continue his gentle torment.

Will supposes it’s to be expected that the pace of the dinner slows now that the challenge has been laid and accepted. He curls his palms into gentle fists and turns them to lay wrist-down against the table. Hannibal allows this, allows his shallow breaths and quiet sounds, even allows the way his body jerks involuntarily if the chopsticks press too hard at points Will doesn’t even know exist. 

He enjoys watching Will keep himself still, even when he circles his nipples with the blunt points of the sticks and tugs them, when he pours the cool soy sauce over his stomach in intricate patterns to save himself the trouble of dipping his chosen sushi in the shallow dish. He patiently waits for William to eat what he gives him, does not torment as he chews for risk him choking, finds he very much enjoys tracing the thick vein on the underside of Will’s cock over and over until the man’s soft breaths become moans and his brows draw tight.

He regards the last three pieces left with gentle contemplation before taking one up for Will to eat, tracing it through the remains of the soy sauce at his chest first. The rice has warmed with Will’s skin, arousal pumping heat through him Will is unable to control or keep low, he has always run hot, despite Hannibal’s care. Hannibal traces the chopsticks under his chin lightly as Will swallows before settling them to rest at the join of his collarbones, far enough away from his throat to not be a danger.

“You have remarkable control when you’re willing to use it.” Hannibal tells him, words gentle as Will trembles and turns his eyes to him again. Pupils blown, just a faint blue ring around them suggesting they have color at all.

“And am vengeful when so inclined.” Will responds, the implication clear, though his voice shakes somewhat with the threat, soft as it is. He directs his eyes – without tilting his head – to the last pieces against his body and licks his lips.

“One left for each of us.”

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, watching Will a moment longer before moving to take up a piece for himself with his hand, careful to keep his fingers clean as he sets the sushi on his tongue before chewing. Then he takes up the piece meant for Will and feeds him that, allowing his fingers to linger against his lips, tender and gentle, tracing just slightly over Will’s tongue when he swallows his mouthful and seeks them with it.

It’s the first warm contact Will has had in what feels like hours, and he moans gently, arching his neck up to feel Hannibal press the pads a little harder against his mouth, though no deeper despite Will’s best efforts.

“Very good.” Hannibal murmurs, genuine praise, and gentle. He can see the tremors still caressing Will’s form as he keeps still, long enough to be allowed permission, obedient despite his desperation.

“Tell me, Will,” he says, pulling his hand back once Will has had his fill of sucking his fingers clean, watches as Will’s eyes open to track him, smiles when Will’s eyes narrow in anticipation, “How do you feel about dessert?”


End file.
